25. Lure Me With Ice Cream
25
LURE ME WITH ICE CREAM
MAGGIE
So High School By Taylor Swift
T here’s so much footage to sift through from Felix’s performance with Ivy, and as much as it pains me to watch it all over again, I do it anyway. It’s part of the job. If I didn’t have feelings for Felix, it would all be so much easier—just another task to check off the list. But because I do, every clip feels like it stretches into eternity.
The moment Felix’s voice filters through my headphones, it’s like a tidal wave washing over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His voice is rich, smooth, and effortlessly magnetic. If I hadn’t been so consumed last night by my anger, by the way their bodies leaned too close and their eyes lingered too long, I might have noticed how deeply his voice affects me. The prickle of my skin, the way the hairs on my arms stand at attention—it’s automatic, visceral. Felix’s moody indie vibe paired with Ivy’s honeyed harmonies was undeniably electric. It deserved the standing ovation the crowd gave them, even if it stung to witness.
Dylan was spot on.
I finish splicing together the last of the clips Dylan asked for and move on to Felix’s impromptu downtown Nashville music video. I flop onto my stomach on the bunk and kick my bare feet up behind me as I stare at my laptop screen.
Then my phone buzzes, vibrating against the bedspread.
Felix: What are you doing?
I bite my bottom lip, already fighting the goofy grin threatening to take over my face. I never wanted to get tangled up with anyone on this tour—least of all Felix, with his effortless charm and too-perfect smirks. But here I am, smiling like an idiot.
How did this happen? How did he happen? Felix isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. He’s this strange mix of cocky and sincere, of playful and raw. He’s not just a person; he’s an experience, a gravitational pull that drags me in no matter how much I try to resist.
Me: I’m staring at videos of you.
I prop my chin on my hand, my thumb hovering over the phone screen as my heart does a foolish little flip. His reply comes so fast it makes me giggle.
Felix: I knew you were obsessed with me.
I’m ready to fire back something snarky. But then I pause and change course.
Me: Maybe I am obsessed with you.
The second I hit send, I shove my face into the mattress, muffling the scream that wants to escape.
Fuck, what am I doing? I’m letting this rockstar get me in my feels.
Felix: Maybe?
I can practically picture him now—his lips pulling into that maddeningly cocky smirk. I roll onto my back, cradling the phone in my hands.
Me: Aren’t you supposed to be doing press?
Felix: I am, but I can’t stop thinking about you.
His words steal the breath right out of my lungs. I don’t know what it is about him—maybe it’s the ease with which he says these things, like they’re as natural to him as breathing. Or maybe it’s the fact that I know he means them.
Me: I knew you were obsessed with me too.
Felix: Obsessed with me too?
I huff out a laugh and sit up.
Me: This is what you focus on?
Felix: Anything that has to do with you admitting you’re obsessed with me has my undivided attention.
Oh my God, this guy.
Me: I am obsessed with you. Happy?
Felix: Don’t do this to me, Sass.
Me: Do what?
Felix: Don’t say things like that when I can’t touch you.
The words send a shiver racing down my spine, my body reacting before my brain can even process it. Felix touching me is all I can think about—especially after this morning, waking up tangled in his arms, his warmth seeping into me like sunlight.
Me: What if I touch myself for you?
I’m teasing, of course—sort of—but I can’t help the way my heart races as I press send.
Felix: Don’t fucking torture me like that, Sass.
I laugh, the sound muffled against the pillow as I clutch the phone to my chest. There’s something intoxicating about how easily I can rile him up, how his composure cracks just for me. And the knowledge that he’s supposed to be in the middle of press with Ivy only sweetens the victory.
Me: What would you do if you were here?
The dots appear almost instantly, then disappear, then reappear again. I can picture him, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his jaw tightening as he debates how to respond. Then, finally:
Felix: That’s it. I don’t care if Dylan has a conniption. I’m on my way over.
Panic spikes through me and I bolt upright, my free hand gripping the edge of the bed.
Me: No, no, I’m sorry. You can’t leave in the middle of press.
The last thing I want is to be the reason Felix derails something so important for his career. But he doesn’t reply right away, and the silence has me on edge. I slide off the bed and peer out the bus window, half-expecting to see him storming across the lot.
Felix: Sass.
That one word hits me like a lightning strike. It feels heavy, loaded with meaning, as if he’s right here whispering it in my ear. My thighs press together instinctively, my body responding to him even from a distance.
Me: Yes?
I chew on my bottom lip as he starts typing again, and I hold my breath, waiting. The bubbles vanish, then reappear, and it’s as if I can feel his hesitation through the screen.
Felix: I need to see you. Me, you, in my bus with ice cream.
I let the curtain fall back into place and press my back against the door. It’s the word ‘need’ that has me feeling as though I could melt into a puddle right here on the floor of my bus. It’s only been a few hours since I’ve seen him, but it feels like an eternity.
Me: Are you trying to lure me with ice cream?
I check the time on my phone, calculating the hours before he’s done with press, practice with the band, meeting with Dusty on logistics of the next tour stop—and it’s too far away.
Felix: Do I need to?
Me: Absolutely not, but it’s a bonus.
I shake my head, the smile on my face lingering as I flop back onto the bed, the video of Felix still playing on my laptop. But even as I return to editing, my mind is elsewhere, caught up in him. Always him.
The sight grips me instantly, my breath hitching as Felix hammers his fist against the glass, each strike resonating with a sharp rhythm that seems to echo in my chest. It was fun and spontaneous—the best kind of creativity.
New ideas claw away at me, tightening my chest. I tweak the graphics, layering clips of Felix—his raw, electric energy onstage bleeding into candid moments. Those are the ones I love most: fleeting seconds when his confidence falters, and something gentler, something achingly human, emerges.
I’m so lost in the editing that at first, I don’t notice the persistent vibration against my leg. My phone buzzes again, jolting me back to the present. I fumble to pick it up, already bracing a teasing smile, ready to rib Felix for calling instead of practicing. But the name on the screen isn’t Felix’s. It’s Dylan’s.
“Maggs!” he says excitedly into the phone, and it gives me hope that my jealousy didn’t prevent me from getting great shots of the performance last night.
“Hey, Dylan,” I say, keeping my tone even, casual, though my fingers tighten around the phone.
“I just finished looking at the clips—amazing work. I sent them over to the marketing team. This is going to be huge, Maggs. Huge. For Felix, for all of you.”
“Felix and Ivy were great,” I reply, the words sharper than I intend, but I don’t bother softening them.
“I knew the collab would be a hit, but wow, the footage… You really outdid yourself. Some of the shots you sent me…” He trails off, and I can almost see his expression.
“Really? There were so many other angles I wanted to get, but I don’t have all the equipment I need.” I don’t admit how distracted I’d been, my focus fraying every time Felix and Ivy stood too close, their easy camaraderie gnawing at me.
“Are you kidding? Maggs, I don’t know how you do it. Even the clips you’ve posted online—they’re some of the best I’ve ever seen. And considering you’re working solo…” His voice dips. “It’s more than I expected.”
More than he expected.
I shake the thought away. This is going to be big—he said it himself. Partly because of my work.
There’s a shuffle of papers on Dylan’s end, the faint scuff of shoes on carpet. “Listen, I’m heading into a meeting, but I couldn’t wait to call you. Have you thought about getting an agent?”
“An agent?” The suggestion catches me off guard.
“Yeah. I know a few people I can connect you with. I’ll set it up,” he says quickly, as if he can sense my hesitation. “I gotta go. Love you, Maggs.”
The line clicks dead before I can muster a response. I lower the phone slowly, staring at it as my thoughts swirl. An agent. The idea feels distant, like an opportunity meant for someone else, someone bigger, brighter. Not me. Yet, I’m so excited I can barely contain myself.
I glance at the clock. Felix should be wrapping up soon. What does it say about me that Felix is the first person I want to share this with? As much as I don’t want to torture myself by seeing him with Ivy, I pack my things and head toward the stage.
The sight of him stops me in my tracks. He’s standing with Ivy, their bodies too close for my comfort. Her hand grazes his arm, her posture open, inviting. My stomach knots, a hot pulse of jealousy flaring through me. I forget why I came here in the first place. But Felix flinches, his laugh low and uneasy as he edges closer to Dex, subtly creating space. And then his gaze shifts.
The change in his expression is immediate, his features softening as his lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile. It’s the kind of smile that melts through every defense I try to muster.
Dex claps him on the back, but Felix barely notices, already leaping down from the riser with a practiced ease. Ivy watches him go, her expression unreadable, but Felix doesn’t so much as glance her way. His focus is unwavering, locked entirely on me.
My steps falter as he closes the distance between us, my pulse pounding in my ears. I take a turn away from the press, away from the band, away from Ivy, and as soon as we collide, his hands slide around my waist, pulling me to him.
His kiss is a contradiction—soft yet insistent, tender yet demanding. The heat of his skin seeps through his shirt, the fabric bunching under my fingers as I clutch at him, desperate and undone. We kiss like we’re starving, like the hours apart have stretched into days.
When we finally pull back, his forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling, shallow and uneven.
“I thought we were meeting later,” he murmurs, his voice rough, frayed at the edges.
“I couldn’t wait to see you,” I admit, the confession tumbling out before I can stop it. His eyes darken, the intensity of his gaze stealing the air from my lungs.
I tighten my grip on his shirt, reluctant to let him go. “You and Ivy looked…” I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat like thorns. “Well, Ivy looked very comfortable with you.”
His smile widens. He enjoys this—my jealousy.
He takes hold of me, letting out a breath as if he’s steeling himself to say something he knows I’m not going to like. “She did hit on me,” he says, his tone light but honest.
My eyes narrow, and I start to pull away, but his hands tighten, holding me in place.
“Whoa, tiger,” he teases, handling me as if I’m about to cut Ivy with my claws. I wouldn’t do that. At least not with witnesses.
“And?” I prompt.
“And,” he continues, grinning now, “she noticed the crater-sized hickey on my neck when I turned her down. Then I shoved Dex at her.”
A laugh bursts from me, unrestrained and bright. I almost feel sorry for Ivy. Almost.
“Well, my work here is done.” I give him a satisfied smile and playfully pull away.
Felix’s grin softens, his thumb brushing against my hip. “Where do you think you’re going, Sass?” He pulls me closer instead.
“You have practice, and I have work,” I protest weakly, though my resolve is already unraveling. I’d be content to stand here behind the stage and kiss Felix until the sun went down.
“You can’t just show up looking all riled up and sexy and expect me to let you leave,” he murmurs, his voice dropping as his fingers toy with the button of my shorts. His touch sends a shiver racing down my spine.
“Felix?” I laugh as I realize what he’s doing when he pops the button on my shorts, dipping his hand inside.
Why does it feel like I’ll never get enough of him?
* * *
I shove the spoon into my mouth, the cold sweetness of rocky road melting on my tongue, as I click the play button on my laptop and slide it toward Felix.
“It’s not finished.” My words are as fast as my heartbeat. He pulls the computer onto his lap, his long, lean legs stretched out on the kitchen floor, one ankle casually crossed over the other. His jeans are frayed at the knees, and his bare feet tap idly.
“And I still need to splice in that one performance—you know, the one with the beach ball,” I ramble, my voice tumbling over itself, desperate to fill the silence. My fingers twist anxiously in the hem of my shirt until he places a single finger over my lips. His touch is warm, firm, and commanding, and my words die instantly in my throat.
“Relax,” he whispers. I glare at him, but I obey, sinking back onto the floor.
The glow of the laptop screen reflects in his eyes as he watches, utterly still. His face is a perfect mask of concentration, brows drawn just slightly together, mouth set in a line that gives nothing away. My stomach twists, each second of silence tightening the coil. Why isn’t he saying anything?
“I know it’s amateurish, but?—”
His hand shoots out, steadying the laptop before I can snatch it. “Sass, shut up,” he says firmly. “It’s brilliant.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that?” My voice wavers, hope and disbelief tangling together in a way that makes me feel exposed. I set the laptop down on the floor, surrounded by our buffet of half-eaten ice cream cartons. The kitchen smells like sugar and late-night dreams.
Felix doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he grabs my waist and pulls me onto his lap, his hands firm and grounding. I’m suddenly too aware of the way his body feels beneath mine, warm and solid, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that pulls me in. “Because you didn’t really say anything while you were watching it,” I murmur, nervously tangling my fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt, “so I thought?—”
“I didn’t say anything because I was speechless.” His lips curve into a smile that’s soft and genuine, and my heart does this ridiculous little leap. “It’s art, Maggie.”
The words hit me like a gust of wind, knocking the breath from my lungs. My cheeks hurt from the grin that spreads across my face, but I don’t care. I’m practically bouncing in his lap, unable to contain the giddy excitement bubbling up inside me.
Felix chuckles, his hands tightening on my waist to steady me. His thumbs brush against my ribs, a slow, deliberate touch that sends shivers racing down my spine. “You keep moving like that, and I’ll have to take you back to bed, Sass,” he murmurs.
I giggle, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to keep from falling apart completely. “You think it’s art?” I ask again, because I need to hear it one more time, need to let the words sink into the deepest parts of me.
“I think you’re really talented, Maggs. When I was in that phone booth, I didn’t see it, but you did. I was trusting you.”
The weight of his trust settles over me, warm and heavy, and I don’t know what to do with it except hold on tighter. “I talked to Dylan today,” I say, my voice softer now, more hesitant.
Felix raises an eyebrow, his fingers still resting lightly on my hips.
I press a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “He loved the videos I sent of your performance with Ivy. He sent them to the marketing team.”
His expression shifts, a flicker of something I can’t quite name passing through his eyes. Excitement? Nerves? Both?
“He said this was going to be big, like really big,” I continue, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. “He also said I should get an agent.”
Felix’s hands tighten on my hips. “What does that mean?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
“An agent could help me get projects, like really big ones,” I explain. “But I don’t know. I think that’s a long shot…”
“Maggie, don’t do that.” His voice sharpens. “Don’t minimize this. You’re amazing, and you deserve every good thing that happens to you.”
His conviction cuts through the doubt that’s been gnawing at me, and I sigh, letting my forehead rest against his. “What are you thinking?” he asks softly.
I run my fingers through his messy hair. “Have you ever wanted something so bad and just when you’re on the verge of getting it, you feel…” I pause, searching for the right words. “Like your stomach’s in knots.”
He nods, his gaze steady. “Yeah, I know exactly how that feels.”
And I know he does. He’s lived it, and now I get to be the one who captures it.
“We should celebrate,” he says suddenly, a grin spreading across his face as he gathers me into his arms.
I gesture to the mess of ice cream cartons around us. “I think we already have.”
Felix laughs, the sound warm and infectious, and glances around the kitchen floor. “You never told me which one was your favorite.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
He looks from the cartons to me, raising an eyebrow. “ Every kind?”
I laugh, throwing my arms around his neck. “I’ve never met an ice cream flavor I didn’t like.”